


Table 1 Cullen 0

by AlleiraDayne



Series: Bang Your Head (Metal Health) [12]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Anal Fingering, Boys Being Boys, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Minor Injuries, Modern Era, Modern Thedas, Smutt, Wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 05:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5653915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleiraDayne/pseuds/AlleiraDayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After dinner and a night at the theatre, Amallia and Cullen stumble back with Amodisia and Alistair to their hotel room at Amodisia's request.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Table 1 Cullen 0

**Author's Note:**

> A follow-up to the prompt "I feel like Captain Morgan shoved his peg leg up my ass" Text From Last Night prompt from @oblivionscribe on tumblr. Here's what happened.

“That was _superb,_ Sia, thank you so much!” Amallia exclaimed as they entered the Theirin’s hotel room.

Amodisia hummed a girlish laugh as she shrugged off her shawl and hung it near the door. “Don’t mention it, sweetheart, I am so pleased we could make an entire night of it. Cullen, do you know the chef at that restaurant? I _must_ get in contact with him, that lamb was exquisite.”

Cullen hung his suit jacket up as Amallia and Amodisia made room. “I do not, but I imagine if I drop your name to the general manager, I may get it. Do people _always_ flirt with you like that?”

Alistair’s chuckle drew his attention behind him. The grin on his friend’s face compared to little else, his impossibly handsome where Amallia’s was ridiculously gorgeous. “I’m used to it,” he began. “If that is any indication of how often it happens.” Alistair side stepped him for the living room, Cullen following after a shake of his head.

As he passed the entry to the kitchen, he saw Amodisia setting drinks on a tray and then swiftly round the bar for the living room. She held the tray before Amallia, who picked up her drink, and then turned to Cullen as he sat beside his love.

“These are Captain Morgan,” Amodisia motioned towards the two on the right. “And this one is Cedar Ridge whiskey, neat.” When he hefted the tumbler containing Captain Morgan, Amodisia whisked the tray away and set it on the coffee table, picking up the remaining whiskey and rum for herself and her husband.

“Sia,” Amallia began, leaning forward with her glass in hand. “I feel I may already know the answer to this question, but I still have to ask. _How_ did you get those tickets?”

 _Turnadot_. They’d seen the opera after dinner earlier that evening and, due to their drunken state, had only managed to stumble to the Theirin’s hotel room. Alistair had offered to have one of their personnel drive them home, and even Cullen had suggested his own men take them. But Amodisia had pleaded with them to stay, not wanting their friends to leave them so early in the night, so they had walked to the hotel.

“We went to college with the producer, remember?” Amodisia commented. “Come to think of it, wasn’t her your—“

“ _Dorian?!”_ Amallia exclaimed. “ _Dorian,_ my cousin, gave you those tickets?”

Amodisia nodded. “Oh yes. In fact, he told me to tell you that you owe him. I tried to convince him that wasn’t necessary, but he was adamant.”

“Oh, yeah, I owe him alright,” she huffed, sarcasm dripping from every word. “I owe him a whole lot of nothing. I thought you’d pulled some of your own contacts for that.”

Cullen sipped from his drink as he listened to the conversation, completely comfortable with observing, and Amodisia continued. “I tried, but those plans fell through. Dorian was my next contact, though I hardly recalled you two were related until now.”

Related. Cullen kept his barking laugh to himself. They weren’t just _related_. Dorian and Amallia, as well as her sister Karris, were inseparable. There had been a few occasions where Cullen had to insist that a date he had planned for _only_ himself and Amallia be just that. He knew she didn’t do it out of malice or on purpose; Amallia loved her cousin and her sister the most, more than anybody else in the world. And that she still had room to love him, a man she’d met a mere year and a half ago, baffled him.

“Still,” Amallia stated, bringing his attention back to reality. “Any theatre tickets you need, come to me first. I’ll go to him so he doesn’t give me shit for it later.”

While they laughed, Cullen knew Amallia was serious; Dorian did have a habit of lording things over her whenever he did her a favor, not unlovingly though. As much as Amallia loved Dorian, Cullen knew the man loved her in return twice over.

“Another drink?” Amodisia asked as Cullen set his empty glass on the coffee table. She stood and took the drink with hers and Alistair’s to the bar to refill them, not waiting for a response.

It wasn’t as if they were going anywhere. Why would he refuse another drink? And then the room spun a little as his head lolled to Amallia’s shoulder, reminding him of the three drinks he’d had at dinner, the pre-opera drink at the theatre, and then the one he’d just finished.

Amodisia returned, three full tumblers in hand, and set Cullen’s before him on the table. “You know the both of you can stay here tonight, right?” She sat next to her husband, legs over his lap and a hand rubbing the back of his head.

He couldn’t help it. The memory returned so suddenly, as if the sight of his friends simply being close had summoned it. Alistair, naked, towering over his exquisitely petite wife. Pounding his cock into her. A red flush crept up his neck and colored his cheeks before he was able to dismiss the thought.

Girlish laughter escaped Amodisia’s lips, though she tried to contain it. Breathless, she swatted at her husband’s hands at her hips. “Alistair, stop it!” she scolded, though it sounded half-hearted, as if she hardly meant it.

“Oh, but I love it when you squirm,” Alistair whined as he continued to tickle her relentlessly. She squealed in protest as he picked her up and hauled her into his lap, trapping her in his long arms against his chest. Her protests faded as he nuzzled her neck, lips trailing kisses up behind her ear.

Cullen didn’t remember laying down, but his head was in Amallia’s lap, her fingers carding through his hair and he shivered at her touch. “Get a room,” he jested at the couple.

“ _Get bent_ , Cullen,” Alistair mocked as he lobbed a pillow from the couch only for Amallia to catch it before it hit him. “You make it sound like you wouldn’t _enjoy_ watching this,” their friend continued, returning to nuzzle his wife further. With a lewd glare, his lips on Amodisia’s neck, Alistair’s hand crept along her torso, cupping the heavy weight of her breast and _squeezed_.

“Oh, stop that!” Cullen snapped as he stood in defiance but nearly toppled over in his drunken state. “That was an _accident_ and you know it!”

Alistair looked up from Amodisia, a sly grin on his lips with which Cullen was all too familiar. “An accident, hm?” he asked as he stood, voice as slurred as Cullen’s and equally unsteady on his feet.

It _had_ been an accident. At least, that was what he kept telling himself. Amallia had insisted they linger at the garden window, _spying_. And that, he knew, was the lie; once he’d spotted their naked bodies, Cullen had been just as eager as his significant other to stay, enraptured by Alistair and Amodisia mid coitus.

“Yes, Alistair. An accident,” Cullen insisted as he stepped nearer to his friend, his own grin hooking the right corner of his lips. “An _honest_ mistake.”

Alistair laughed a low chuckle but said nothing in response, simply staring as Cullen took another half step closer. He knew it was a terrible idea, sizing up his friend in such an inebriated state. Alistair wouldn’t back down from a challenge. But neither would he and his friend’s measuring glare challenged him all the same.

Shoulders. Why had he gone for the shoulders first? Damn the inch of height his friend had on him. It was all the advantage Alistair needed, ducking low, and long arms reaching out to wrap around Cullen’s legs, a shoulder firmly planted just below his waist to lift him off his feet.

They hit the floor with a thud, Cullen landing on his back with a grunt, and he heard both Amallia and Amodisia cry out in shock, protesting the childish behavior. A pillow bounced uselessly from Alistair’s back and Amodisia berated him from the couch.

“I’m not helping if you get hurt, you little shit!” she hissed.

Alistair laughed again, more of a struggled grunt as Cullen flipped him to his back. “I’ll be fine, Sia, don’t you worry your pretty little head.”

Amodisia scoffed as she stood and rounded the opposite side of the coffee table to sit next to Amallia, snuggling in close and resting her head on the taller woman’s shoulder. Amallia wrapped her arm around her friend, pulling her in close.

A flip, a shove, and a hip check nearly shifted their friendly wrestling match in Alistair’s favor, but Cullen held firm. Legs tangled and arms straining, their grunts and growls mingled and for the stupidest reason, Cullen could only be reminded of Alistair, naked, thrusting into his wife in the garden of their home again.

“Give it up, Rutherford,” Alistair grunted. “You’ll not last long enough to keep up.”

A little more weight and a shift to the right. There. He had Alistair securely pinned to the floor, his arm wrenched awkwardly behind his back. Another buck of his hips and he tried to roll out of the restraint, but Cullen held fast.

“C’mon, Alistair, tap out,” Cullen insisted. “I’m not going to push any further.”

So damn stubborn. Alistair shook his head with a grimace, unwilling to give in to such a quick match. “There’s no way I’m giving you the satisfaction of going easy on me.”

Easy? He’d gone anything but easy on him. He just didn’t want to break the man’s wrist. What was he waiting for? He could have tapped out ages ago, the second Cullen had his arm wrenched behind his back. He returned Alistair’s glare, knowing the searching look. He was waiting for a distraction, something to take Cullen’s attention away so he could capitalize.

For a second, Cullen thought they’d orchestrated the whole thing. The moan, the bright, girlish sigh of Amodisia’s voice snapped Cullen’s head up to where she sat, _straddling_ his girlfriend. Maker, her dress was hiked up so far, it was scandalous, the tanned swathe of her thick thighs drawing his eyes upwards to her rolling hips. There, Amallia’s long, nimble fingers grasped, tugging her closer and Cullen continued to stare, eyes pulled further upwards where he found their lips, pink and red, firmly pressing against one another, tongues laving their mouths.

A heavy twitch against his leg and a roll of hips, _both_ from Alistair, set the whole world spinning. Beneath him, he found Alistair’s neck craned upwards to stare at his wife and her best friend in the middle of their embrace. His dark golden gaze returned to Cullen’s, his mouth agape and an eyebrow hitched questioningly. Clearly, they had _not_ planned it. And Alistair’s hips rolled again, firmly grinding the swell at his groin against Cullen’s leg.

Maker’s breath, there was no way he would have predicted a mutual attraction between the two of them. He’d harbored the idea for a few months when they’d first met, but the feelings had waned over the years apart. Those feelings returned in a spine tingling rush, considering the wicked grin on Alistair’s face.

The table. Who puts a blighted fucking table in the center of a room? Why did anybody do that? Prime wrestling space, that was. The edge of it rushed up to meet Cullen’s forehead faster than he could react, and no wonder. Drunk and stunned not only by the sight of his lover and his friend’s wife in such an intimate state, but combine that with the response it had elicited from Alistair as well, and he had no chance of defending himself.

Alistair bucked with his full strength, launching Cullen to the side. His head connected with the edge of the table, a blindingly bright burst of white stars obscuring his vision. The rattling thud pulled everyone’s attention to him, Amodisia leaping up and chastising Alistair.

“What did you do?!” she demanded.

“Nothing! I just,” he began and Cullen heard him falter, knowing his friend loathed to admit the truth. The rat _bastard_ had used his arousal to distract Cullen and then used it to his advantage, bucking him into the table. “I shoved him off me and his head hit the table.”

“Dammit, Alistair,” she admonished as she knelt next to Cullen, carefully examining his forehead. “Are you alright?”

Fingers absently touched the growing knot above his right eye, coming away clean as he grunted. “Uh-yeah,” he stammered as Amallia came into view, hovering over him. “I’m alright.”

The familiar touch of her fingers inspected the injury, softly pressing. “Well, Sia, as much as I would love to stay, I do think we should be going. I’ll call Ashara to pick us up,” she said as she stood. “Can you get him some ice for that?”

Without a word, Amodisia stood and rushed for the kitchen as Cullen listened to Amallia apologize over the phone for waking Ashara.

* * *

“I didn’t realize,” Amallia grunted as she shifted Cullen’s arm over his shoulder, “… just how heavy he is.”

As though she were a million miles away, Cullen heard Ashara scoff. “I’m supposed to be able to carry him myself,” she began. The elevator doors opened to admit them to the seventh floor. “I know I can drag him quickly enough, but I doubt I could actually carry him alone.”

Shuffling through the elevator door, the two women dragged a barely conscious Cullen along, his arms draped over their shoulders as he attempted to stumble along. He couldn’t recall drinking to the point he could hardly stand, but drink he had, and now he was paying for it with a splitting migraine. Although, that could be from the knot the size of a sovereign, swelling over his right eyebrow. Dammit, Alistair. How many times had he been injured attempting to spar, to wrestle, to train with the man? He should have known better.

“Dammit, Cullen, c’mon, you can at least _try_ to stand up,” Amallia scolded as she searched her pockets for her keys when they reached the door of his apartment.

“Sorry,” he murmured as he leaned against the trim. He heard the door swing open, slamming against the stopper on the wall with a thud as Amallia pushed it back. He pitched forward into the open doorway, Amallia and Ashara barely catching him as they eased him to the floor.

“Now what?” Amallia asked with a huff.

“You get his shoulders, I’ll get his feet,” the other woman instructed as she lifted his ankles.

He felt the ripple of her muscles as she hooked her arms beneath his shoulders for leverage. The two women lifted him together, shuffling through the door and down the hall to his room.

“Bed?” Ashara asked.

“Yeah, ready?” Amallia asked as they neared it.

Slipping, her grasp at his arms faltered, and the world lurched sickeningly as the floor met the back of his head with a deafening smack. Ashara set his feet down with another exasperated sigh.

“Hey,” he protested feebly, hardly aware of what had happened. The cool wood floor beneath him soothed his heated skin and if they had left him, he might have passed out there the entire night.

“Oh Maker, I’m so sorry, Cullen,” Amallia apologized, cupping his face. “C’mon, love, you need to get into bed.”

Bed. Oh, glorious bed. It sounded so nice. But it was so high, so far away. He rolled to his side, throwing an arm up to the edge of the bed and grasped the comforter. Beneath his arms he felt both Amallia and Ashara hoist him up, hands shifting from his shoulders to his waist as he pushed up to his knees. With a final shove, they lifted, Cullen and Amallia flopping onto the bed. Ashara knelt down and lifted his feet, pushing him a little further until he lay safely on the bed.

Amallia wriggled out from under Cullen’s arm and he heard Ashara ask, “Will you be okay?”

His shoes slipped from his feet, followed by his socks. “I’ve got it from here, Ash. Thanks,” Amallia stated.

The click of Ashara’s heels faded away until he heard the door of his apartment click shut. A rough grasp at his hip rolled him to his back and the tug at his belt snapped his eyes open. She cursed, flipping on the lamp beside the bed, flooding the room in a dim orange glow.

“Whatteryou doing?” he mumbled.

“Getting your fat ass into bed,” she spat. “You’re heavy, you know that?” She tugged again at his   belt and removed his pants, then began unbuttoning his shirt.

“I’mnotfat,” he slurred.

With the last button undone, Amallia straddled him and sat him up to slip the fabric over his shoulders and down his arms. “I know you’re not fat, I was joking. Still, you’re damn heavy.”

Clarity. Clear and bright, but brief, he seized it as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in close for a kiss. He held her tightly as he lay back and she followed willingly, returning his kiss with equal passion.

“No,” he muttered when she broke away from him. “Stay.”

“Cullen, you’re drunk as shit, there is _no_ way in the Void I’m staying,” she insisted. “I’m sorry, but I won’t let myself stay, as much as I would like.”

He understood. Sort of. Maybe he would understand better in the morning when his migraine wasn’t threatening to pound another hole in his skull.

“Iloveyou,” he muttered as Amallia tugged the sheet and comforter out from beneath him.

“And I you, love. Get some rest, we’ll get breakfast in the morning,” she whispered as she flipped the covers over him and kissed his forehead. “Good night.”

He hardly heard her, asleep before her lips parted from his face.

* * *

Dry mouth and nausea. Rum. It _had_ to have been rum. Maker damn them, they’d given him _rum_. Didn’t they know what that horrid drink did to him? Whether it was his need for water or the daylight brightening his room, he wasn’t sure, but there was no way he’d ever get back to sleep in that state, considering the throbbing ache at the back of his head.

As he reached for his phone, he rolled from bed and headed for the bathroom.

_CR: You up?_

A clash of metal sounded from his phone, signaling the incoming text.

_AT: About to get in the shower, yeah._

_CR: I feel like Captain Morgan shoved his peg leg up my ass_.

Her response was delayed and he imagined her laughter at his hangover.

_AT: That’s probably because you drank enough rum to kill a pirate._

It was the only witty retort he could come up with.

_CR: Arr!_

When she failed to respond, he regretted his joke, quickly messaging her again.

_CR: See you for breakfast?_

_AT: I’ll be ready in about an hour, I’m seriously dragging ass this morning._

_She_ was dragging ass?

_CR: Excuses! You hardly drank anything._

_AT: Yeah, well at least you didn’t have to drag my ass into bed. You’re heavy, you know that?!_

_CR: Is that why I have this lump on my head?_

_AT: Which one?_

_CR: THERE’S MORE THAN ONE?_

_AT: You’ll find it. Look in a mirror._

He stomped to the bathroom and saw it immediately. A large, slightly discolored lump the size of a sovereign raised just above his right brow. Gingerly, he touched it, wincing at the tight pressure. He reached behind his head to examine the throbbing bump there, finding it much smaller than the one on his brow.

 _CR: Wtf happened last night? I hardly remember anything_.

No response.

He bolted to his room, finding a pair of plaid pajama pants and hopping into them as he stalked down the hall to the kitchen. Keys snatched from the counter, he threw open his apartment door and shut it behind him softly.

Three steps across the hall, he approached her door and set an ear to the wood. Running water? Maybe. Possibly. As quietly as he could, he slipped the key into the bolt and turned it, then moved to the handle and turned.

Definitely running water. He eased the door shut, the latching click sounding far louder than possible. Down the hall he stepped lightly, wood floors creaking slightly as he neared the bathroom. At the door, he saw in the mirror her reflection through the fogged glass door of the shower. She was under the shower head, the water easily blocking out most sounds.

Carefully, he rounded the corner and neared the shower door, waiting. When she stepped out from beneath the rushing water, he spoke.

“You know—“

How any of the glass in her entire apartment had not shattered at her blood curdling scream, Cullen hadn’t a clue.

“Impressive, although I should have expected as much,” he quipped.

“Fuck you, asshole! What are you doing in here?!” she shouted.

Shirt and pants and briefs stripped to the floor in a flash and he wrenched open the door of her shower much to her dislike.

“Get out, my face is a mess!” she demanded as she turned away from him.

“I don’t care,” he whispered into her ear as he neared her beneath the water and she turned to him with a gasp as their bodies touched.

It wasn’t as if he’d never seen her without makeup before. She looked perfectly normal, no mess to be found, just a freshly scrubbed face and dark hair slicked back by the water. The sight of the water sluicing down her neck and running over her breasts caught his breath in his chest and he could hardly resist the aching need to touch her.

She must have seen the look on his face, for when she cleared her throat, she sounded incredibly irritated.

“Sorry,” he muttered as his fingertips met the softness of her hips. “I can’t help it.”

The biting grasp of her fingers digging into his backside shocked him so that he cried out in surprise. Such a pathetic sound. How did she always manage to extract the _most_ ridiculous noises from him? And simply by grabbing him. And tugging him to her, roughly. And – Oh, sweet Maker, her lips on his chest, tongue darting out to lick, to taste. Teeth nibbling softly, replaced by lips to soothe the sting in a perfect mix of pain and pleasure.

He whimpered. _Again_. It wasn’t as though he could help it. And it seemed to drive her wild, so why would he bother? If his pleasure furthered hers, then he would definitely show her, tell her just how she made him feel.

But she knew. She had to. How could she not, with her fingers wrapping around the shaft of his erection, stroking from the base to the tip. When his raging hard-on had formed, he wasn’t sure, and the question fled as Amallia knelt before him. With one hand still firmly wrapped around his girth, she cupped him with her other hand, kneading softly with two fingers reaching further back to heighten his arousal.

Her hands alone would finish him in short order, but he held back as best as he could, refusing to give in so quickly. Full pale, pink lips met the tip of his cock, tongue teasing his slit. She teased him there, the sinful heat of her mouth barely covering the crown with soft suckling.

Backed against the wall of the shower, his head lolled back, mouth falling open as a long, low, growl dragged from his chest. Wet, velvety heat slipped down the length of his cock, and his eyes snapped open to watch her cheeks hollow as she _sucked_ him in entirely, tip touching the back of her throat.

Lips met pelvis and Cullen bucked hard, an involuntary jerk of his hips when Amallia’s middle finger pressed against his hole.

“What—” he gasped a breath as she withdrew him from her mouth. “What are you doing?”

“You’ve never … tried that before?” she asked as she continued to rub soft circles around the edge.

A quick shake of his head and he stuttered, “N-no.” Briefly, he paused as he let the sensation consume him, rushing a twitch of pleasure to his core, right behind his navel, and he grinned down at her as he gripped her hair. “Keep doing it,” he growled.

Her lips returned, the smooth cavern of her mouth taking him in and her tongue swirled over the head with each stroke. The press of her fingertip at the edge of his hole, drawing firm circles, forced nonsense from his lips, urging her to keep going, faster, _suck it, suck my cock, yes, fuck, I’m going to come_.

Punctual. There was no better word for it. Her timing was immaculate. The heavy, repeated twitching of his cock must have tipped her off, for the second his tightly bound climax unraveled, the tip of her finger dipped inside, ever so slightly, and _pressed_.

His cry of ecstasy filled the bathroom, echoing down the hall, and Amallia moaned her approval as she consumed him. Hot spurts of his seed filled her mouth and it felt as though he came harder than ever before. He could see her swallow _repeatedly_ as more of his white fluids shot into the back of her throat, cock throbbing heavily with each pulse. He’d never seen her have to do that more than once.

With a perverted slurp, she sucked him clean, standing up as she licked her lips. Barely recovered, Cullen wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him tightly, holding her close. “Andraste’s tits, Mal, what made you think to try that?”

“I ah,” she began but paused. “How about we finish this shower, and then we can talk.”

“By ‘finish this shower’ do you mean actually finishing the shower, or …” he asked with a sly grin and a breathless sigh.

“Actually finish the shower. You can have your way with me later,” she replied with a wink.

* * *

“Shit.”

“What?” Amallia asked as she returned to the bathroom, t-shirt wringing out the water from her hair and covered by – son of a bitch, how had she acquired another one of his university t-shirts again? Upon a second look, that was _all_ she wore aside from a pair of hot pink underwear.

“I left my hair cream in my apartment,” he sighed as he returned his attention to the mirror and ran his fingers through his quickly drying hair. It would be impossibly messy in moments if he didn’t do something now.

Her hands grasped his and pulled them from his hair, placing them at the small of her back. “Leave it. It looks great that way.”

A sound of disgust accompanied his tongue sticking out. “It’s ridiculous. I look like I’m twelve again.”

“Oh, I disagree, entirely. I see,” she paused, kissing his chest, “… a man.” Another kiss at his collar. “A big …” His neck. “Strong …” Along his jaw. “Man. No little boy.”

The heated rush of arousal returned as if it had never left. With a shake of his head, he grasped Amallia by the arms and pushed her back. “There is absolutely _no_ way you’re getting out of explaining the impulse to stick your finger in my ass while giving me a blowjob.”

When her cackling laughter failed to stop, he joined, laughing until his stomach hurt. She was crying from laughing so hard, she had to leave the bathroom, and he followed her to the living room where she collapsed on the couch.

He sat next to her, breath finally recovered, but said nothing. He was going to get an explanation out of her one way or another. When she didn’t speak, he pulled her into his lap, expectant glare inches from her face as he held her by the wrists.

“Alright, fine!” she began and he released her. She turned to straddle him, hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “Last night, right before _that_ happened,” she started as she pointed to the knot above his right brow. “You and Alistair were wrestling.”

“That explains _a lot,_ ” he interrupted with a groan.

She chuckled in response, continuing. “Yes, well, it’ll explain much more than you may realize. Sia found this incredibly boring, I suppose. We were all terribly drunk and … well. She um …”

Her brow furrowed when she looked up to him, seemingly worried over what she was about to say. “This is so damn awkward.”

“Why?”

“BecauseSiahoppedonmylapandstartedmakingoutwithme.”

He blinked a few times, not truly understanding what she’d said until the forgotten memory returned, crashing into him like a ton of bricks. An unbidden twitch of his groin and Amallia _giggled_ at the sensation.

“You _do_ remember,” she taunted.

“Yes,” he growled, face reddening. “I remember a lot of things, now. Oh, I’m going to _kill_ Alistair.”

Amallia laughed once more, apparently amused by his embarrassment. “I would highly recommend against it. To explain my …  um … behavior in the shower earlier, I thought you’d done that before. With him.”

Day dreams and even a few nocturnal emissions had definitely occurred wherein he and Alistair had done unspeakable things to one another. But that was a long time ago. And the feeling wasn’t mutual. At least, he thought it wasn’t. Until last night.

“No, Mal. We never did anything together. We were just friends. By the time I’d met him, he and Sia were already together,” he explained.

“I see,” she began. “What if he felt that way about you now? I ask because it seems as though Sia … wants me in her life again. And Alistair is completely fine with it. But I don’t want either of you feeling left out.”

The hopeful gleam in her eye could have melted the sun for how brightly it shown. “Do you love her?” he asked.

“In a way, I do,” she stated. “Sure. But not anymore or really any differently than I love you,” she finished with a shrug as her fidgeting fingers continued to pick at the threadbare hem of his shirt at her thighs.

He grasped her hands and placed them at his shoulders, wrapping his own behind her waist at the small of her back. “Good. As long as she wouldn’t replace me, then there won’t be a problem. Now, about Alistair. Did he say something to you? Something about me?”

“Maker, no, I just see the way he looks at you whenever we’re together,” Amallia said with a grin. “You’re still attracted to him, aren’t you?”

How was she so damn perceptive _all_ the fucking time? He groaned, embarrassment complete. “It kind of … came back. In the spring. You know, with the garden. Ugh, this is so ridiculous, I know nothing can –”

The rush of her lips pressing on his silenced him, except for his surprised moan that she swallowed whole. Her entire body writhed against his, hips rolling slowly, coaxing his arousal to attention. When she broke their kiss so suddenly, he could have wept.

“You should talk to him,” she whispered, lips brushing his ear. “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

“I will. On one condition,” he replied his hands slipped down to grasp her backside, moaning with her as she rolled her hips once more.

“Anything, love.”

He stood in a rush, her legs wrapping around his waist, and he felt the heat of her core pressing, soaking through his briefs. So wet already and they’d barely even started. With his lips at her ear, he whispered and her entire body shuddered with a moan.

“Get a little deeper with your finger this time.”


End file.
